Tempted to Love
by ButterscotchCandybatch
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale work on each other through the centuries, both learning something. 18 adult content for m/m sex scenes and language. Some dark imagery of war, bondage and abuse, especially in later chapters.
1. The Incident and a Temptation

The first Incident that Aziraphale could remember (and angels have exceptionally good memories) had been in 410 A.D. just before the Arrangement really fell into place. Crowley and Aziraphale had been gradually developing a comfortable working relationship over the last several thousand years, but they had not yet quite reached the level of trust required to hand over actual missions of temptation or blessing to the other. Aziraphale because he had a healthy skepticism of trusting a demon, Crowley for reasons of his own.

It had begun simply enough, with a call for help from a future bishop. "Lead me not into temptation and save me from the time of trial" was a prayer that was prayed many times every day around the world, in various languages. This particular call for help was from a man whom Aziraphale knew was destined to a great bishop, who would found a monastery which would preserve vital books and parchments through the Dark Ages – hence Aziraphale's intense personal interest. He decided to manifest directly into the man's mind, since he was inconveniently far away from Aziraphale's present physical location, and also because that would give him access to the man's mind and memories, allowing him to grasp immediately exactly what the problem (and possible solution) were.

The problem was immediately evident. The priest was gripping the seat of his straight-backed wooden chair hard enough to break fingernails. Probably because a young man was crying and trying to climb into his lap from between his knees. Clearly, something was not quite right about this "pastoral" encounter!

A quick review of the man's memories showed that it had all begun innocently enough. The young man had come to the priest's cell asking him to hear confession the night before a Communion service. The priest had donned his robe and stole, promised that all would be under the seal of the confessional, asked the young man to kneel and confess his sins.

This was where it had all begun to go wrong. The young man had knelt on the floor and put his clasped hands on the priest's knees. He had buried his face in his hands, incidentally allowing his breath to intermittently warm the priest's thighs through his woven robe. Then had come the "confession" which was not so much a litany of actual misdeeds, but a list of dark desires and lurid scenes which the youth was conjuring into the priest's mind with his words. The priest was first uncomfortable, then truly distressed for the young man's soul. Aziraphale marvelled at how long the youth had managed to conceal his obvious seductive intent. He had been able to work his hands almost up to the priest's waist, and insinuate his body between the priest's knees before he realized what was happening.

At the moment he did realize, he also knew that his position was utterly compromising and that the seduction was already well progressed. A certain heat and tightness were gathering in his lower body, and a fiery ache was starting in his long ignored groin. And yet his pastoral duty to a young man in spiritual distress, even now, held him immobile and prevented him from simply pushing the young man away. Hence his desperate prayer with enough power to call to Aziraphale from half a continent away.

Even as Aziraphale was busily shoring up the priest's willpower and trying to quench the incipient arousal before it could be detected, the boy seemed to realize that his prey was catching onto the scheme. With a burst of crocodile tears and gasps of "Father, father, help me, hold me safe from these terrible thoughts!" the younger man gave a twist of his hips and managed to bring his chest into direct contact with the priest's bulging groin. He threw his arms around the priest's neck and dragged his face down into a tear-stained kiss, all the while murmuring "Save me! Tell me that I am not evil! That I am worthy of love from a man of God such as yourself."

Aziraphale hissed with annoyance. This was a truly devilish temptation, striking to the heart not only of the priest's identity and duty as a representative of God's love, but also appealing to his protective instincts for the younger man and desire to help him. But to tell him that he was lovely would be to allow words and thoughts into the front of the priest's mind which had been long repressed, and such thoughts at such a moment, with a young man writhing on his lap, could only end one way.

A devilish temptation? Or could it be a _demonic_ one? Aziraphale allowed himself to separate one strand of his awareness from the priest's situation to examine the young man, who was now rubbing himself up and down the priest's body, pressing their chests together as he tried to kiss him again. The young man was definitely human, not an incubus as Aziraphale had first feared. That made the problem both easier to manage (as the boy could be distracted or separated from his infernal influence) but more delicate, since a human could not simply be dismissed to the nether regions.

Speaking of nether regions, the priest was becoming acutely physically aroused, and boy knew it. Like a snake, he darted back down to the floor and lifted the priest's robe. He was actually sliding his hands up the priest's bare thighs under the wool when Aziraphale stunned him into sleep. He slumped to the floor in a small crumpled heap between the priest's feet.

The future bishop gasped and sighed with relief, and finally managed to unlatch his fingers from the rungs of the chair. Aziraphale noted with interest that his resistance to the boy's charms had lasted, even as his body betrayed its response. Cruel torture it had been for him, but he had held back from taking what he wanted from the boy with every fibre of his mental and physical strength. Aziraphale darted quickly through his mind and body, slowing his heart rate, soothing the raw, ragged edges of his emotions, settling his thoughts back into the familiar tracks suitable to a spiritual father. As a final touch, he planted the idea that the boy had been having some kind of fit – an explanation which meshed perfectly with the final result of the boy falling suddenly and inexplicably asleep. He also hinted to the priest that the boy might not recall anything of this event when he awoke. Checking the boy's mind also, Aziraphale was unsurprised to see that his memories had already been wiped. He had a feeling he knew whose modus operandi this was…

The only part of the whole Incident which qualified it for a capital letter was the way scenes from it kept intruding into Aziraphale's consciousness. They weren't exactly fantasies, because angels don't fantasize. They weren't dreams either, because angels don't sleep. And he wasn't exactly titillated because angels don't have ti… He cut off the ridiculous line of thought. He was just worried about the priest's future career and influence, that was all. It was completely baffling that the moment which kept flashing across his memory was when he was fully manifested in the priest's mind. That necessarily involved experiencing the burgeoning arousal that the man had been feeling, even as he looked through him into the boy's eyes and thinking they looked like yellow demon's eyes. Familiar demon's eyes, glowing with lust…

# # # # # # # #

Aziraphale returned to his very absorbing job of building up the church in preparation for the dark ages and spent the next hundred years doing it with patchy success. He felt sure some of his carefully planted and nurtured monasteries would survive as beacons of knowledge and enlightenment in a dark age. He felt darkly certain that others would not.

There had been a particularly close call in 538. The Gothic war had been ongoing for so long that even the most tireless warriors in the Lord's service were starting to become jaded and cynical. War, murder, pillage and… er… everything that went with it, meant that even the most pure-hearted saint had a mind full of unsavoury images. It wasn't difficult for demons to stir up despair, reckless actions and wildly destructive impulses in those who were surrounded by them every day.

The fall of Mediolanum had been such a scene. The city had been besieged for nearly a decade and when it finally fell even God's own soldiers had been intoxicated with a heady mix of victory and near-terminal exhaustion. They rampaged through the town looting and burning for most of the night before settling into a sated sleep as the morning dawned.

One of the generals was sitting in his tent outside the city, after refusing to participate in the murder of civilians. He rested in his camp chair with his arm flung over his eyes, as if trying to shut out the sound of the town being razed to bare earth. He was brought back to himself by a tentative touch on his knee, and his valet murmuring "a petitioner to see you, my lord".

He pushed himself wearily upright in his chair, and waved permission for the messenger to approach. He frowned at the young man standing in front of him.

"It is too late to save the city, or for any other negotiation. Go back and defend your home," he croaked harshly at the pale and frightened face before him.

The boy ducked his head a little, "I know that, my lord. I came to offer you a service, in return for protection for my mother and sister."

"Your city has precious little to offer, or you would have given it up already. There is barely any food and nothing else worth having." The general snorted contemptuously.

The boy raised his head and stiffened his spine at the general's insulting tone. "I am told that I have what many men desire. _Real_ men and warriors, that is." The boys tone was insolent, almost a taunting sing-song.

The general felt a trickle of a devilish thought enter his mind. "Very well, show me what you have to offer. If I like it, I'll take it. Then we talk afterwards about what it was worth." He sneered at the boy's transparent bravado.

The boy, realizing this was only bargain he was going to be offered, bowed his head in acquiescence and started to strip. He peeled off his grimy helmet, shrugged out of his layers of nondescript cloth which probably wasn't wool although it smelled like a long-dead sheep. The material fell away from his shoulders to pool around his feet, and the young man stepped daintily out of the folds and sank down to kneel before the general, who was still seated on his stool.

The general was by now sitting up straight with interest, and Crowley stirred in the back of his mind. This young man reminded him of someone. Blond curls, classical good looks, chiseled symmetrical form. David? Not exactly. Too old for a cherub, though the pouting lips looked just as kissable. An almost angelic look, that reminded him oddly of… no, not possible.

At Crowley's prompting, the general clapped his hands and the valet appeared in the tent opening. The boy shivered at the cold draft from behind him, but did not otherwise move. "Fetch me a basin of warm water. I wish to wash… my hands. And bring me a fresh blanket too. I don't want…" his eyes wandered suggestively up and down the messenger's bare body. "…anything to get chilled." The valet drew a hissing breath of disapproval, but disappeared as soon as the general looked up sharply. Drawing the general's attention when he was in the mood to play was a bad idea. As that boy, whoever he was, was about to find out.

When the bowl of water arrived, the boy was told curtly to wash and make himself ready for his master. The general loosened his own clothing in preparation. Now that the scenario was playing itself out, Crowley usually left the players to it. He was a demon, but he had his _standards_. Voyeurism wasn't one of his besetting sins… usually. There was just something about the boy… With a mental shrug, Crowley gave in to temptation – resisting temptation was hardly a virtue in a demon, after all – and settled into the back of the man's mind to watch.

The boy was shivering by the time the makeshift bath was complete. "Dry off on the blanket and wrap yourself in it and come back to kneel in front of me," the general ordered. The boy did as he was bid, turning his face up to the older man. The general examined him at his leisure. Compact build, wiry rather than bulky. Probably a knife fighter from the scars on his arms and the fact that he had survived so long. Smart then, and quick on his feet. At the moment the boy had none of that tension which one warrior recognizes instantly in another. The boy was at rest, pliant, submissive, not waiting to spring into action and attack, even if he had access to a weapon which he manifestly did not. Satisfied, the general stood up and commanded the young man, "Remove my armour and clothing."

The boy silently got to work, deft fingers delicately unlacing and loosening straps while keeping his touch as light and minimal as possible on the soldier's skin. The harness of hardened leather fell away, the body armour and the material underneath dropped piece by piece to the floor, revealing a hard soldier's body, lean and fit, but slightly too thin after a long and arduous campaign. The general casually reclined back in his chair. "Come closer and kiss me," he grated, "You look like you know how to do it." He nodded meaningfully at his groin, where his interest and intent were becoming obvious.

Crowley extended more of his awareness into the general's mind and body. Since he had got used to physical corporation he had discovered that he liked sex, and as a demon he had no qualms about using those he was tempting for his own enjoyment. He settled comfortably into the general's skin and allowed his eyes to rest on the earnestly bobbing head of the young man working his mouth over the general's hardening member.

As if feeling his gaze, the young man looked up and blue eyes met yellow. Crowley gazed into the round blue eyes above the industriously working rosebud mouth. Those eyes that reminded him so much of… then the eyes widened and lips inadvertently smiled a little, even stretched as they were around the enormous erection between them. Crowley could almost feel the general's climax rising from deep within – when he was stabbed through the heart with a knife from behind.

In the double shock of thwarted orgasm and the death throes of his host, Crowley panicked. The general's body flailed backwards and fell off the stool to lie giving his last shallow gasps of breath on the floor of the tent. The boy leaped to his feet and whirled around to snatch up the general's own belt with its knife sheath. Spinning and drawing with an elegance which was as graceful as it was deadly, even (or especially) though he was completely naked. The boy plunged the knife into the general's – Crowley's – heart, lungs and finally throat. The general's eyes closed for the last time, and Crowley could hear and feel the death rattle in his chest. He thrashed around in the dark, desperate to escape the host body before it finally died and banished him back to hell, embarrassingly discorporated.

The eyes were already closed, and the vibrations from the last heart beat fading away, when Crowley felt himself lifted. His essence was carefully untangled from the soul of the almost dead man. Before his sight returned, he felt the displacement that wasn't exactly movement but signified a shift across the astral plane. He forced his eyes open to find himself gathered in the arms, and held against the breast of his very own guardian angel. Soft white wings enfolded him, blue eyes gazed down at him – and he finally allowed himself to faint.

# # # # # # # #

Crowley awoke on a bedroll in a tent, with a splitting headache and an even more distracting knowledge of an unsolvable problem. Several thousand years of self-awareness make one disinclined to self-deception. Crowley knew exactly what he wanted – just not how to get it. Angels were immune to temptation, almost by definition. How does a demon seduce an angel?

Aziraphale's voice floated into the tent from outside, "Dear boy, you needn't pretend to still be sleeping. But if you insist on pretending that you are experiencing the effects of having a corporeal body, I think you'd feel better if you came out and fed it something."

Crowley slithered out of the bedroll and slunk across the tent to peer out the flap. Aziraphale had a cheery cook-fire going and was toasting bread. He waved one elegant white hand without turning around. "Sit down, my dear, luncheon is almost ready. Help yourself to honey." Crowley noted a small pot set conveniently close to the fire to allow it to soften.

Aziraphale turned and handed over a piece of toast, and Crowley noted that the crust had been cut off. He reached for the honey pot, just as it pressed itself into his hands. He extruded a claw to spread the honey and noticed Aziraphale smother a wince. "How did you find me?" he asked softly.

Aziraphale turned back to his toasting, fixing his eyes on the fire. "I was watching… over you, of course," he said, very, very casually. "The gothic wars are a dangerous place, even for an accomplished tempter such as yourself. The sack of Mediolanum involved the deaths of so many people that I knew you would be here, and of course I needed to watch…" again that little pause, "in case anyone called for angelic assistance at the last moment."

"Well, I owe you one," Crowley admitted.

Aziraphale waved a hand nonchalantly, "Nothing to it, my dear boy, nothing at all. Angels have a duty to rescue you know. See if I can tempt you back to Our side, and all that." He turned back to the fire and said without turning around, "You can have the tent to yourself for any more recovery time you might need. I plan to have one more pass through the city before the fires die down, see if anyone is still alive down there." A sad expression crossed his beautiful face, and for once his perennially youthful features showed strain around the eyes. Suddenly, it was possible to believe that those eyes had seen thousands of years of human pain, suffering and evil.

"Actually," said Crowley diffidently, "I don't feel at all well. I think I'll go and lie down for a bit. Snakes get sore necks very easily you know – it's where we store our tension." He reached around and massaged the back of his own neck. "I don't suppossssse," he swallowed and tried to bring the hissing back under control. "I don't suppose you might have a moment to rub out some of the knots before you go?" He congratulated himself on controlling his voice completely the second time around. No hint of begging in the undertones, no way, no how.

Something flared in Aziraphale's eyes before he turned away, "Afraid this is not really a good time, dear chap. Fires in the city, civilians dying and all that… You know, you could just miracle it away if you concentrated hard enough."

Crowley shrugged. "It just never feels right doing it that way. Like the knots are hidden but still there, you know? Anyway, my work here is done so I can take some time to sleep it off." He made his way back into the tent, straining all his senses to what was happening behind his back. Aziraphale shifted from foot to foot, sighed, then headed down to the smoking remains of the city.

Crowley retired to the tent to think very interesting thoughts. So, Aziraphale was watching him, was he? For an angel, there was a big difference between "watching over" and just "watching". And his choice of moments to be watching was also most instructive. The hesitation outside the tent was even more revealing. Angels were creatures of conscience and duty. If Aziraphale had hesitated even for a moment, then the temptation to remain must have been very strong.

All these tiny clues led to the inescapable conclusion that Aziraphale _wanted_ to be tempted by Crowley, but how? How? For an angel to give in to temptation was to fall, and Crowley wanted an angel for his lover, not another demon. Even more, he did not want to change Aziraphale. He… wanted to fuck him. Crowley was a demon, so he did not let his thoughts approach that subject any closer. Demons don't fall in love any more than angels fall into temptation. He snorted and turned over in the bedroll. What a pair they would make!


	2. A Temptation and a Fall

The Arrangement actually came about, indirectly, through Crowley's campaign to tempt Aziraphale. It started with Crowley suggesting one day in the mid-700s, "I'm going over to Italy to tempt a priest – can I do anything for you while I'm there?"

Aziraphale started and blushed before mumuring, "No, nothing. But thank you for asking." He coughed slightly. "Actually I was thinking of heading over to Italy myself, there are some very nice manuscripts that I want to copy. Er, which monastery did you say you were going to be tempting at?" He looked away and pretended to study to his fingernails which were, as always, perfect.

Crowley did not crack a smile as the bait was taken, just started reeling in the line, "Oh, I think it's called St Nicholas's. It's just a tiny place up in the mountains. Not worth my time really, but there's a priest there who I think is going to fall – just needs a little tempting." Then he played his final card. "You could come along if you like, since you're going to be in Italy anyway. Keep an eye on me and be on hand in case he decides to call for angelic assistance at the last moment, you know how fickle humans are."

Aziraphale looked thoughtful. "Yes," he said slowly, "perhaps I'd better be on hand. Just in case."

"Yesssss," hissed Crowley, unable to keep his forked tongue from flickering over his lips.

# # # #

The trip to Italy was uneventful, but it allowed Crowley and Aziraphale to spend time together eating, talking and bemoaning the frightful conditions on board primitive ships. Inevitably the talk also turned to the people they had known in heaven and what Michael, Gabriel and the other boys were up to these days. Aziraphale had the most recent gossip, and Crowley was surprised at how much he liked just being together and talking. He even listened to a lot of it, as it was too early to be planning much along the seduction lines. He knew his eyes kept drifting to the angel's beautiful hands though, and he couldn't help wondering how those warm white hands would feel stroking over his black scales when he was in snake form. He wondered uneasily if Aziraphale would be put off by his snake form. They hadn't been on close enough terms back in the Eden days to ask what he really thought of it.

They arrived at the little town below the monastery in the middle of the afternoon, but since there was no inn there they decided to disguise themselves as travelling clerics and bespeak beds for themselves at the monastery itself. They were too late for the single daily meal which was part of the routine of the place, but as travellers they were allowed to go into the kitchen and get some bread and cheese.

After a mostly silent and awkward meal, they retired to the room they had been given to share. The atmosphere was increasingly heavy as the time for the confrontation approached. Normally they could put aside their differences, and as travelling companions they had more in common than at any other time. But soon they would be in direct conflict as Crowley tempted and Aziraphale thwarted. As each prepared in his own way, it was impossible to ignore the fact that they were on opposite sides – enemies, in point of fact.

"This is ridiculous," said Crowley, flinging himself down full length on the woven mat that served as his bed.

Aziraphale was sitting cross-legged on his own mat, trying to meditate. "What is?" he asked absently, without opening his eyes.

"Us," replied Crowley, succinctly.

Aziraphale's eyes popped open. "What do you mean?" he sounded somewhat offended. "We both take our duties seriously, what's ridiculous about that?"

"No, no, not that." Crowley tried to hide his frustration. "Of course we do our jobs to the best of our ability. That's not what I mean." He tried to hold his thoughts away from what his job would involve in just a few hours, and focus on reassuring Aziraphale. "We're acting like this is some kind of conflict between the two of us, when it isn't really."

Aziraphale looked confused. "It isn't?"

"No, not at all!" Crowley sat up and faced Aziraphale. "This is the temptation of a human. Whether he falls or not is his choice, and has nothing to do with either of us. The conflict is between Above and Below, and in the man's heart as he chooses between doing good and doing evil." Crowley could have bitten his tongue out for mentioning the "E" word at this delicate moment, but forged on regardless. "The orders come from above, the decisions are made by humans – we're just the soldiers on the front line and have more in common with each other than with anyone else."

Aziraphale looked unpersuaded. "But we are soldiers on opposite sides. You will offer your… tempting wiles." His eyes slid away from Crowley's as he obviously got slightly sidetracked at contemplating what those wiles were likely to involve. But then he returned to his main point, "And I will try to thwart you. How does that make us similar?"

"Well," drawled Crowley resuming his lounging posture, "I won't take it personally if you won't. We can do our jobs, then go back to being travelling companions. There's a great bistro in France that I want to take you to on the way home, as soon as this little job is out of the way."

"Hmmm." Aziraphale resumed his meditative posture and closed his eyes. "We'll see."

# # # #

After Vespers the whole monastery retired for the night, and the two visiting monks were locked into their cell as was standard procedure. This didn't bother either Aziraphale or Crowley, as neither of them planned to leave the cell in corporate form anyway. Even if someone checked on them during the night, all they would see would be the two bodies of the visitors lying quietly on their mats, apparently asleep.

Crowley rose up in spirit form first, and drifted out of the cell in search of the novice he planned to use as his host for the Temptation. He wasn't sure yet what degree of possession he would need to use, if he would just give a nudge to the man's thoughts or manifest himself more completely. But he could tell from the way the novice looked at the novice master that the groundwork was well laid for the master to Fall.

He found the novice in his cell, counting his breaths. At first Crowley thought he might be praying or meditating but on invading his mind just a little, he found that he was counting. Timing the passing minutes until the whole monastery could be expected to be asleep and he could venture out of his cell undetected. If Crowley had been corporeal at that moment, he would have smiled and licked his lips. This was going to be easier than he had thought, and he could probably just watch if he wanted to. But he was a demon, so he invaded the novice's mind anyway and settled into his body to enjoy the ride.

The novice suddenly tired of counting and decided that whatever number he had already counted was enough. He _wanted_ and now it was time to go and _have_. He pulled open his cell door, checking that the tree sap gum was in place to allow the door to remain closed but without locking behind him, and he drifted down the corridor without needing a light. He trailed his fingertips along the stone wall, but he had made this trip in his mind so many times that he didn't need to count the doorways to know when he had reached the correct one. He listened at the door, but heard nothing inside. He placed his palms flat against the door and pushed gently, then more firmly. He was just beginning to wonder if all the encouraging signs he had been seeing were in his own head, when the door suddenly gave way under his hand, spilling him abruptly into the novice master's completely dark cell. He stumbled to a halt and stood in the dark room wondering what to do next.

There was a whisper of cloth as someone brushed past, and the door closed silently behind him. Then he heard a soft scratch against the wall and the curtain was half opened allowing the bright moonlight to flood the room. He flinched in the unexpected light and would have thrown his arm across his eyes, but he was restrained by an embrace from behind. A voice whispered breathlessly in his ear, "You are so beautiful, don't be afraid to let me look at you."

The novice stood still, trembling slightly, and Crowley smirked to himself. He had guessed his men absolutely correctly. There was no chance of the master calling for angelic assistance to resist a seduction he had obviously expected, maybe even planned! The timing suited Crowley, and demons were nothing if not opportunistic. He used his supernatural sight for a moment to check if Aziraphale had made it into the room, and spotted the angel leaning against the wall in the darkest corner of the room, looking somewhat grim. Clearly he also realized that his man was about to Fall, and that calling for angelic rescue was the last thing on his mind.

Crowley realized that he was going to need to spin some urgent damage control, or the angel would just leave. He took over the novice's vocal cords for a moment. "Father?" he whispered, "Father, is this right? When we swear chastity, we give up the love of women and reserve all our love for God, do we not?"

The novice master chuckled huskily from behind him, making even Crowley's flesh crawl with the suggestive mockery in his voice. "Having second thoughts? It's a bit late for that, my boy." The novice master's hands were on his robe, lifting it up, tearing it off him and wrenching his neck in the process. The boy's skin shivered in the sudden cold, or was it more than the cold? The novice master was pressing a series of hot, feverish kisses down the boy's spine and Crowley could tell without looking that every kiss was going to leave a mark.

The boy's initial feigned hesitation, more part of the game than serious resistance, was now rapidly crystallizing in the forefront of his mind. "Father? Father, I… thought…" he faltered.

"Now, now, my young novice," the priest soothed, "I'm not a woman or a purveyor of original sin, am I? We're just two priests together celebrating the wonderful work that God has made in the magnificent body of man." As he spoke his hands were efficiently stripping both the novice and himself, and he started to guide the almost mesmerized youth towards the bed. The younger man balked when he realized where they were going, and the novice master smoothly converted their destination to a small prie-dieu in the corner of the room.

Crowley winced in anticipation, knowing what was probably about to happen. Sure enough, as the boy knelt on what looked like a kneeling cushion, it turned out to be nothing of the kind but instead a wooden block with crosses engraved in high relief all over it. If he knelt there for more than five minutes he was going to have crosses imprinted on his knees for at least a day afterwards.

The novice master stood in front of the boy, which relative position brought his erection into convenient and prominent view. "Are we men not fearfully and wonderfully made?" he whispered. Crowley felt rising anticipation from the boy, and the quotation from the Psalms seemed to have quieted his conscience. He leaned forward and took the master's hard, jutting flesh into his mouth and the older man groaned in long-denied ecstasy. The boy's hesitant tongue rasped up and down the length of the shaft and Crowley gave the boy's hand an impatient shove. Obedient to the hint, the boy reached up and started massaging the heavy balls with one hand, while mimicking the movement of his mouth on the priest's nipple with the other.

The priest groaned again, and the sound was oddly doubled in Crowley's ears. He couldn't place what was different about this groan, apart from the obvious increase in passionate sexual tension. His expert gaze gave the whole scene about another three minutes, less if the priest reached down and fondled the novice's own straining erection.

Then he had it – the groan had been heard twice, once by his host's human ears and once by Crowley's own supernatural ears. Aziraphale must be connected to the priest and experiencing his pleasure! Crowley glanced around the room and saw that Aziraphale was still leaning against the wall, so he wasn't fully inside the mind of the novice master, but his eyes were closed and there was a silver cord connecting his outstretched hand to the back of the older priest's neck.

Well, well! An interesting development indeed – Crowley had thought it would take at least two or three scenes such as this to induce the angel to "partake" but obviously angels were more curious than he had realized. Perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised being an angel himself, albeit a fallen one. Crowley decided to stop analyzing the situation and encourage his host to give the master (and indirectly Aziraphale) the best time of his life.

After the boy had used all the variations he could think of on licking, sucking and fondling, he urged the boy to stand up slowly. He tongued his way up the other man's body from a last kiss on the head of the engorged cock, to a slow tongue-tickle of his navel and then up to bite lightly at each erect nipple. Crowley hoped that last move wouldn't give him away, as many boys had no idea that nipples were fantastically sensitive in aroused men, but the novice master just seemed to be completely given over to sensation and not thinking about anything and Aziraphale was obviously too inexperienced to wonder about it. After all, they both had been there when the human body was designed and they knew exactly how it worked. What Aziraphale had lacked was first-hand experience, and now he was saturated in the touch of his first hand, and apparently enjoying the experience too much to question any of it.

The older priest clasped the novice to his chest and murmured appreciatively into his ear, kissing him deeply. He slid his hands up and down the younger man's back, squeezing the rounded globes of his ass and grinding their erections together between their bodies. The host and Crowley groaned together this time, and Crowley could feel a rising urgency in the body he was currently possessing that made him push the two men's sweating bodies apart for a moment. Both were panting, eyes closed, but the older priest was in his own room and apparently did not need his sight in order to draw the younger man towards his bed.

This time the novice made no resistance, and soon they were entangled together on the bed, kissing and stroking feverishly, hands and mouths all over each other's hot skin, hips pumping in an irresistably biological rhythm that stroked their penises together as the sexual tension spiralled higher and higher, subtly reinforced by the presence of the two supernatural beings who were both participants and audience in this spectacular show.

Just when he thought it was all about to be over, when the screaming tension in his host's body was about to find relief – the master pulled away leaving the novice panting and whimpering for completion. "Just a moment, my dear, this will make it even better," he said, reaching up to the head of the mat and groping around under it. He found what he was looking for, and triumphantly displayed a small pot of something that looked semi-liquid as it glistened in the moonlight. Crowley thought it must be some kind of lubricant, or at least it was about to serve as one, whatever its original purpose had been.

The priest urged the novice to his hands and knees, ignoring the boy's sudden gasp of pain as his bruised knees took most of the weight of his body. He knelt behind him, quickly and expertly lubricating and preparing the boy to be mounted. He thrust into the warm, eager body below him, and the boy cried out as the extra weight put pressure on his tortured knees.

The pain in his host's knees was not the uppermost problem in Crowley's mind at that moment however. Something was wrong here, deeply wrong. The novice master was clearly far gone in corruption, that he could have orchestrated this scene and had all the accoutrements already to hand. Clearly, this was not the first novice he had seduced in exactly this way. Having the Scripture quotation ready to hand was a nice touch but it spoke of forethought, not the inspiration of the moment. So if the novice master was not the one to be tempted, then who…

Even as he felt the thrusting of the priest increase in tempo and the boy's cries spiralling up to meet his rising passion, even as he felt the climax gathering in the pit of the boy's body, it all clicked into place for Crowley. He was in the wrong body! The tempter was supposed to be the novice _master_ and the boy was the one who was supposed to either resist temptation or fall into it!

The shock of Crowley's realization reverberated through his host's body, and joined as they were, Aziraphale felt it too, and realized what it meant. His eyes snapped open from his position on the wall, and the silver cord jumped from the neck of the priest, to the neck of the boy. It was an instantaneous and smooth transition from one host to another, and Crowley noticed with some admiration the speed and efficiency with which Aziraphale was completely master of the situation from the boy's point of view.

But even as Crowley fought to disengage his entangled consciousness from the boy and shift to the master, he felt fingers tightening on his hips and the gush of warmth inside him that usually signalled the successful consummation of a temptation. Even as he came, the master reached around and tugged at the novice's erect and weeping penis, and with two firm strokes the boy was screaming and climaxing. And Crowley was swept along also crying out as he came, and somehow Aziraphale was there too, gasping out his pleasure. Crowley was the first demon to hear an angel scream with orgasm but since they were sharing the same body when they did it, no-one else heard. Good thing too, Crowley reflected. He wasn't sure he wanted the story of this rather incestuous orgy to get about. Tempting an angel into a sexual encounter was one thing – but simultaneous orgasms from the same body was a bit strange, even to his admittedly broad mind.

After it was all over, and the two celestial beings were back in their own bodies, Aziraphale seemed oddly inclined to chat. "You were right Crowley, it wasn't personal at all. Your side won tonight, but no hard feelings, eh? So, what about that bistro in France? On the way I've a mind to show you a simply gorgeous little village in Switzerland where they make the most amazing cheese. Something about the wet climate and what they feed the cows there, I've never tasted anything like it…"

Aziraphale chattered on about travel plans and eventually fell asleep mumbling about climate effects on bovine digestion and milk production. Crowley took considerably longer to fall asleep, despite having more practice than the angel. Demons were never bothered by twinges of conscience, and their eavesdropping on the sexual encounter of the novice and master didn't rate a second thought. He wondered a little about who had "won" tonight and whether he had liked it. But the comment that he kept turning over in his mind for most of the night, was what had Aziraphale meant by his cheerfully ambiguous use of the expression "No hard feelings?"


	3. A council

A Council

After the 1066 conquest of England, both Aziraphale and Crowley relocated to London the better to observe social progress. Aziraphale was interested in watching over the spread of formal religion from Europe as it took over from the native English paganism. Crowley justified his presence there by murmuring generalities about "war and conquest, lots of opportunities for temptation, you know…"

They settled within a few miles of each other, which was convenient for comparing notes on the progress and spread of holiness – or lack thereof. They fell into the habit of meeting up at the end of most months for a mug of beer and chat. Gradually each meeting contained fewer notes, and more beer. Neither of them being particularly susceptible to alcohol they were free to indulge themselves – Crowley had long since convinced Aziraphale that alcohol was a natural product invented by God and having nothing at all wrong with it if taken in moderation. (That was just an observation and didn't count as a temptation.)

They had been meeting and chatting for some fifty years, when one end-of-the-month meet-up took an intriguing turn. Crowley had arrived in their usual pub in a suspiciously good mood. He ordered French wine instead of their usual English beer and proposed a toast. "To the Roman Council and Pope Callistus II."

Aziraphale cautiously sipped his wine (which was very good) and wondered why a church council should have Crowley in such good spirits. "Er, yes, absolutely. God blesses the Pope, I presume…" He trailed off and raised his eyebrows at Crowley.

Crowley smirked, "You, my dear angel, need to pay more attention to politics!"

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, "Was that an invention of Your side or Ours? Depending on the day, it could go either way…"

Crowley shrugged, "I think it is just, you know, ineffable. Human nature and free will and everything."

"Oh, yes, of course. Free will." Aziraphale frowned, "So what does a church council have to do with you?"

Crowley leaned forward conspiratorially, and lowered his voice to a whisper. "I could hardly believe it myself, but the church fathers have voted to make clerical celibacy compulsory for _everyone_!" He sat back and grinned.

Aziraphale sniffed, "I don't think that is such a big deal. Bishops and monks have always been celibate, and there is a long tradition of heavenly marriages for nuns."

"I don't believe you, angel. Do you not realize what this will mean for every single parish priest in the whole of Christendom? No more married priests, no more family men – no more families! Every single man who is gifted with a call to ministry _must_ now also either have the gift of celibacy – or else struggle with temptation all his life!" Crowley sighed rapturously, "Just imagine the scope for temptation right there! And that's even without the teaching that says mere lustful _thoughts_ are sinful – when that news gets out there will be rioting in the streets! Angel, you have no idea…" Crowley raised his cup and bowed to an imaginary audience, "Yes, thank you, thank you. Yes, all my own idea. Genius? Do you really think so? Well, yes, perhaps…"

Aziraphale smacked Crowley's shoulder. "Don't be ridiculous. Humans are not sex obsessed to that degree!"

Crowley simply raised one eyebrow. "You are lucky that angels don't bet, or I'd be taking you for all you have." They both contemplated that thought for a moment, then Crowley went on hurriedly, "Anyway, you should come with me tonight to Westminster after the proclamation is read. You can witness my triumph – and be available for anyone who needs to repent afterwards, of course."

"My dear boy," said Aziraphale firmly, "I would like to hear the results of the council, of course, but I anticipate no such result."

Crowley anticipated a great deal more which he decided not to share with Aziraphale, or not just yet…

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The reading of the Council proclamations went exactly as Aziraphale had predicted. Long and very, very boring. After it was all over, Aziraphale said to Crowley as they were sauntering out of the church, "Well, that wasn't exactly the triumph you predicted now, was it?"

Crowley just smirked and said, "You'll see, just wait until tonight."

They walked along the river and back, and were by the wall of the church building as the bells chimed for Vespers. Crowley closed his eyes and extended his senses into the building to watch the monks retiring for the night. Oooh, yes. A delicious wave of temptation and despair was sweeping through the ranks of the men. This was going to be even better than he had thought.

"My dear angel," Crowley put an arm across Aziraphale's chest and stopped him from walking any further. "Just lean against this wall right here," he guided Aziraphale until the angel's back rested against the wall of the church and took up a deceptively casual pose leaning against the wall beside him. "Now listen to the thoughts of the monks as they climb into their beds…"

Aziraphale closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. His eyelids flickered as he searched mentally through the minds on the other side of the wall. "Temptation… lust… anger… regret… despair… " he murmured to himself. He frowned, his eyes still closed. "Surely not? Here in this holy place how can every mind be obsessed with what they cannot have? The service of the Lord is a joyous calling, and if there are sacrifices, there are compensations…"

Crowley leaned in close to Aziraphale's ear and whispered, "Go deeper and you will see. Mankind has always been obsessed with the forbidden. Just saying 'Thou shalt not' to most humans is the same as baiting a rat trap with cheese. Even when they _know_ it will kill them, they can't help wanting it. And they _do_ want it, just listen to their thoughts." Crowley was close, his shoulder almost touching Aziraphale's, close enough to lean over and kiss the angel on those delicious pouting (well, currently frowning but that's not very poetic) lips. He didn't do it though. There would be time for that later. Instead, he cast his mind loose from his physical body and followed the angel's thoughts.

Aziraphale was currently watching one of the senior priests tossing on his lonely bed. The man had heard the injunctions against impure thoughts and was struggling mightily to refrain from his usual bedtime routine. Sleep was not coming however, and his thoughts were becoming increasingly lurid and perverse as he tried to suppress his natural impulses. What had been a natural physical urge was now in his mind becoming a devilish temptation. And the more he thought about being tempted by smooth, warm flesh sliding over his own, the more he tried to push away thoughts of wetness and heat – the more those thoughts obsessed his mind and the more his erection tented up the blanket and rubbed itself against the rough wool.

Aziraphale pushed his mind further into the man's to understand what has happening to him. Lust and temptation were at war within him – surely this was exactly the situation where angelic assistance would be helpful? The angel insinuated himself gently into the man's body and tried to stem the raging fire of lust which was flaming higher for all the man's attempts to suppress it. Aziraphale felt himself being overwhelmed by the man's urges, even though physically nothing had happened yet. The priest had a rock-hard erection, that was certainly true, but so far he hadn't touched it with even his own hand. He was rocking his hips involuntarily against the blankets, creating friction with the overlying rough wool, but that would not be enough to complete the act and soil him in spirit. Would it?

Just as Aziraphale was deciding that this man would be strong, and that angelic assistance would not be needed – he felt the blankets being lifted away and a heavier weight settling across the man's thighs. The man kept his eyes closed, so Aziraphale had no idea _who_ it was, though he had a pretty good idea _what_ was about to happen. Aziraphale in the man's body felt a line of kisses down his neck and across his collarbone. Steady pressure of a leg forced his own legs to open and immediately an opportunistic hand was massaging his balls and pressing just behind, causing a sweet hot tension to gather in his belly. He could feel blood rushing down to swell what was already swollen, making his hard-on weep a little at the tip. Fingers with a little bite of nail tweaked his right nipple until he groaned. At the same time a wet tongue traced a line down to his left nipple and circled it with ticklish flicks of a _forked_ tongue?

Aziraphale forced the eyes of his host open. Both man and angel were shocked to see Crowley in his natural _naked_ demon form (complete with bat wings and barbed tail) astride the man's lower body and sporting an enormous erection which he was even now bringing into alignment with the man's own rock hard flesh. Angel and man gasped at the contact as the friction of soft skin over hardness sent waves of pleasure through their shared body. Crowley smiled, baring pointed teeth, and bent his head to resume licking his way down the man's body.

Of the two, perhaps it was the angel who was most surprised. It had never crossed his mind that Crowley would ever carry out a temptation in his own demonic form! Not that there was anything wrong with that form, of course. Actually it was quite attractive in a dark, medieval kind of way…

The man himself was less astonished. It seemed to him not unreasonable that the urges of his body, suppressed and demonized, should take physical form in order to tempt him. A black leathery-winged scaled creature with a long tail which was even now stroking its way up his thigh – that was straight out of his fevered imagination and practically inevitable!

The insidious tickle of the tail worked its way up to the opening of the man's body, and started teasing and stroking him there. Waves of illicit pleasure were soaking the man's body already from the action of the tongue and fingers, and he groaned and parted his legs further to invite the invader to fill him and thrill him from the inside.

Sure enough, the blunt tip of the tail worked his opening, stretching him to accommodate the broad leaf-shaped head. He thrust his hips into the air to beg for more attention to his weeping cock, and was rewarded with a warm wetness engulfing him from tip to root. He felt the forked tongue dextrously stroking both sides of his cock and sending intense erotic thrills though his whole body. He thrust his hips faster, working his erection in the warm, wet haven until he could feel the tension gathering towards the climax. He was being filled, taken deeply, intimately and at the same time he was sliding in and out of lovely black scaly lips which were giving just the right amount of pressure and friction along his shaft. Then that amazing tongue flicked out and rasped across his tip, and he was groaning and coming, trying to choke back his cries of ecstasy.

Aziraphale snapped open the eyes of his own body, which was still leaning against the wall of Westminster Abbey. He found himself gazing from an inch away into the lust-filled yellow eyes of Crowley, who was still sporting an enormous and unfulfilled erection. Crowley leaned in to close the last inch of space between their lips – and Aziraphale vanished. Crowley collapsed across the suddenly vacant space and crashed into the stone wall of the church, cursing.


	4. And a Consummation

_Some non-consensual (sort of) m/m sex and mild bondage in this chapter. Not that I expect you to stop here, but just so you know. (Also apologies to those of you who read the early version of chapter 3, there is a bit of a repeat because I later realized that this scene belongs in chapter 4.)_

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Aziraphale reappeared in his own room, with shaking hands and trembling knees. A nice cup of tea, that was what he needed. Of course he was shocked and upset by what he had experienced – what angel _wouldn't_ be upset by the devastation about to be unleashed on the church? The temptation scene he had just experienced would be repeated thousands, millions of times across Europe through the centuries. He forced his thoughts away from the temptation scene he had in fact, so vividly and personally experienced, and especially from the gloriously naked form of the demon who had done the tempting. Demons were _supposed_ to be tempting, damn them, that was part of their job description! "Not personal, nothing personal," Aziraphale chanted to himself as he tried to make himself some tea.

In the end he was too shaken to accomplish the simple task manually and settled for miracle-ing himself a strong cup with a dash of whiskey in it – to settle the nerves, purely medicinal, naturally. He had downed half of it and was steadily working on the rest when he realized abruptly that he was not alone.

A hissing voice came from behind him, "Ssssso, my _dear_ angel," for the first time the endearment that they both used regularly sounded uneasily in Aziraphale's ears. "What did you think of my technique?" A scaly black hand with talons slid around from behind him and appropriated his cup. "Mmm, nice touch with the whiskey. I'll have to remember that for later."

Aziraphale cleared his throat, "Crowley, ahem, that was most, er, educational…"

"Wassssssn't it though? I thought you'd like it." The hissing was becoming disturbingly pronounced.

Aziraphale tried to turn around and face his opposite, but found himself pinned with one taloned hand pressing into his chest and a rope of some kind around his neck from behind. "Crowley?!" He squeaked indignantly, "This is not at all the action of a gentleman!"

"No, it isn't. But then again," the hand was rubbing up and down his chest slightly, "I'm not a gentleman, or indeed a man of any description. I'm a demon, remember. I have finally decided to take what I have always wanted from you, since you won't give in to temptation."

"Crowley! I don't want… I don't want you like that!"

"Perhaps not," the voice sounded slightly sad at the confession, "but I want you, and I can make sure you enjoy it – you know I can."

"Evil is not stronger than good, you know." Aziraphale said, somewhat pompously. "I can fight you off you know."

"Ah, but I don't think you will," the dark voice brightened a bit at this statement. "It's part of my plan you know. Evil wiles and all that. I've got you imprisoned with my tail, and if you were to fight me off you would hurt me, perhaps even discorporate me and then you would have to face another demon at this critical time in the development of the church." There was a deep chuckle. "No, no, it is definitely in your line of duty to sacrifice your innocence for the good of your job – your ability to thwart is greater when you are familiar with the one you are thwarting. Better the devil you know, I believe is the expression…" The scaly rope around Aziraphale's neck tightened, pulling him backwards and uncomfortably off balance. "Come here, my _dear_ angel – because I certainly intend to…"

Aziraphale found himself being dragged backwards by his neck to his own bed, and forced to sit. He stubbornly refused to cooperate and finally with a hiss of irritation the demon just used his claws to shred Aziraphale's clothing. Pinpricks of claws across his chest forced the angel onto his back, to lie stiffly inert with the restraining rope still around his neck. "You know I won't give in to temptation," he stated flatly. "So what do you think you can accomplish?"

"Oh, I've given up tempting you. You are quite correct, you are incorruptible. Beautiful, but far too good for me." A wistful sigh. "But as no-one minds having what is too good for them, I intend to take you anyway." A dark chuckle followed this sentiment. "And, as I believe I have already adequately demonstrated, I know the… ummm… ins and outs of the human body quite well enough to make yours co-operate." A fingernail started tracing a ticklish line up the inside of Aziraphale's thigh towards his stirring erection. "See? I can turn you on even without your co-operation." The was self-evidently true as Aziraphale's body responded to the same touches which his host had just experienced to such devastating effect. The echoes of the other man's climax thrilled along Aziraphale's human body in memory, and he felt himself weakening. "Just so long as you are clear that this is by compulsion and without my cooperation…"

"Sssssssscertainly, my dear." Two clawed hands were now stroking up his legs. "You just lie back and think of… heaven." That amazing tongue was now being deployed against him, and Aziraphale realized that he had no recourse but to lie back and suffer.

Seeing that he was resigned to his fate, Crowley quickly took some loops of material and secured Aziraphale's wrists and ankles. Then he stood back to admire the view. Very nice. Aziraphale still had his eyes closed and his face averted, but Crowley noted the swelling erection and the slightly increased speed of Aziraphale's breathing.

Crowley decided for this first encounter (and oh yes, there would be more) that the scenario they had both just enjoyed would bear repeating. He kissed and nibbled at Aziraphale's nipples, which tensed up in gratifying response. He flicked his forked tongue slowly down Aziraphale's chest and even more slowly over his stomach, noting the eager tensing of the muscles as he moved lower and lower. At the same time (convenient that) he was using his tail to tickle up the insides of Aziraphale's thighs. It was annoying that Aziraphale would not cooperate, but he impatiently shoved the angel's legs apart against the mildest of resistance, giving him access to all of the warm, delicious body splayed out beneath him.

He backed off for a moment, not to resist temptation of course, but to prolong it. He glanced wistfully at the angel's beautiful face, which was still turned resolutely away from him. But despite the apparent denial of the position and the still-closed eyes, Aziraphale's lips were moist and slightly parted and his breathing was definitely faster. Since angelic beings don't breathe in order to consume oxygen, Crowley took that as a very good sign of Aziraphale being fully present in this body and in the emotion of the moment.

Letting his demonic side surface for a moment, Crowley grasped the angel's chin and forced his head around. Why should he put up with the denial of anything he wanted? Having forced the issue, he may as well enjoy every part of the delectable being quivering below him. He leaned down and pressed his scaly black lips to the angel's pouting red ones. They both gasped with the unexpected shock that thrilled through them. They had kissed several times while inhabiting various bodies, but this was different. Each of them in their own bodies, kissing each other, took the whole experience to a new level. Aziraphale's lips parted and his back arched up, seeking closer contact. Crowley instantly responded by clasping his hands on both sides of Aziraphale's head and invading his mouth with his tongue.

After a few minutes of gloriously warm and wet mutual exploration, Aziraphale made a noise which was not exactly a complaint. Crowley lifted his head enough to look down at the angel's face.

"Crowley, I didn't realize your lips would be warm." The angel said, blinking in surprise.

"What, did you think I'd have cold blood like a snake?" returned Crowley.

"Well, yes, actually." Aziraphale gave a charming little blush. "I had wondered what cold lips would feel like…"

Crowley grinned. "So," he drawled, "you *were* thinking about kissing me!"

"Not as such," protested the angel. "I just wondered what cold lips might feel like on warm…" he looked away from Crowley's face.

Oh, ho! So that was where the wondering was going! "Well," purred Crowley, "why don't we experiment a little? Demon lips on angel…" he trailed off and dragged a claw suggestively down Aziraphale's torso, and felt his erection leap in response. Suiting deed to the thought, Crowley leaned down and kissed the tip of Aziraphale's weeping cock. He then wrapped his tongue all the way around the shaft and dragged the rough surface excruciatingly slowly towards the tip. By the time he flickered his forked tongue across the head, both of them were frankly panting.

Aziraphale moaned wordlessly, and Crowley decided it was time for the delicious denouement of his little scene. Snapping his fingers he caused a little pot of prewarmed and semi-liquid paraffin to appear beside the bed. He was a traditionalist in some ways, and if it had been good enough for their first encounter, he did not see any reason to change. They were not in the same body this time, however, or not yet…

He retracted his claws and slopped a generous amount over his fingers, then used both hands to simultaneously slick up both his own shaft and Aziraphale's. The angel gasped and shuddered under his firm grasp, helplessly jerking his hips into the air. Suddenly Crowley was swept away with lust and could not wait any longer. He positioned himself above Aziraphale and in one smooth motion impaled himself deeply and felt the angel's glorious cock slide home inside him. Judging that Aziraphale was not yet ready for full penetration, Crowley folded the tip of his tail down as small as it would go and delicately inserted it inside the angel's warm body. He stroked the small nerve centre just right, and Aziraphale bucked and moaned again. Crowley rocked himself on Aziraphale's cock, leaning back just a little to adjust the angle and hissed with pleasure as he hit the sweet spot.

They were both nearing the climax as Crowley gripped the bucking angel's body with his knees and rode him hard. He stroked Aziraphale gently internally, pressing deliberately on the bundle of nerves just made for pleasure. He wished Aziraphale could stroke his jutting erection, but that was not possible with the angel's hands bound as they were. Another day perhaps.

Crowley reached down with his still slick fingers and stroked himself in time with his tail thrusts. He slowed his movements as he felt himself nearing the edge, then gave one firm squeeze and crashed down onto Aziraphale's chest as the waves of pleasure washed over him. He could feel his internal muscles stroking Aziraphale, then the angel was gasping and crying out and there were quick pulses of seed spurting warm inside him.

Crowley lay still on Aziraphale's chest, listening to their breathing and heart rates slowing back towards normal. With a flick of his finger they were both clean and dry, and Aziraphale's blanket floated up to settle over both of them.

"I say, this is all very pleasant and all, Crowley, but I don't suppose you could release my hands before you go to sleep, could you?" Aziraphale murmured in his ear.

"Mph," mumbled Crowley with another flick of his fingers. "There. You can go wherever you like."

"Oh," sighed Aziraphale, "I don't think that's necessary. I'm pretty settled here right now. Just wanted to move my right arm a bit." He lowered his arm to settle in the middle of Crowley's back, just between his wings.

Then they were both asleep.

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_I think I've got maybe one or two more chapters of this before the end. Just a quick question for those reading though: Are you all here for the m/m sex, or could you cope with a f/m sex scene? Still with our two favourite angelic beings, of course! And remember that reviews are love! This chapter went up more quickly than usual because I was so happy to get a review! Thanks for reading._


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